


You pay your dues (and I'll pay mine)

by multifandomcircusfreak



Series: Leo Fitz's sweet tooth [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, F/M, the original bet that everyone was asking about
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3192752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multifandomcircusfreak/pseuds/multifandomcircusfreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo Fitz is entirely adamant that it is completely normal for him to try and live off of junk food. Jemma goes to impressive lengths to fix this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here you guys go! You would not believe the amount of messages people sent me, asking me to write the original bet! I finally did it.

Leo Fitz sat at the Academy's best table in the library. Obviously, he'd taken a look at the layout like all other students when he'd first arrived in order to be able to successfully make his way to class. What no one else knew however, was that in his first week, when looking at some examples of blueprints, he'd found the construction plan for the entire building, and along with it, every shortcut possible. So, every day, when the rest of the student body were just getting out of class, Fitz was already halfway here. 

He prided himself on that little accomplishment. It wasn't as though the table was the best table of all of creation. All of the desks that were placed around the library were in nice shape. This was SHIELD after all, and they had a reputation to maintain. But, this table was placed near the back, away from the majority of the noise. It was beside a window, which provided sunlight (to battle drowsiness) and a wonderful view, which served to help him find inspiration when he was unmotivated. So yes, it was in his opinion the best table in the room.

But today, he wasn't marveling at the place in which he sat, but who he sat with. Across from him was Jemma Simmons, who at a horrible revelation to Fitz, had been talking without him paying attention. 

"... So I was thinking that it would be the best place to work on our project. Sound good?" she asked, staring at him intently.

"Uh... Yeah, sounds good," he agreed without knowing what he was putting himself into. 

"Great!" Jemma exclaimed. She started shifting through the notes that they had been going over and caught sight of her watch. "Oh, would you look at the time! I've got to get to my roommate, I promised her that I'd help her study. So, I'll meet you in your dorm room tomorrow at three?"

"Ye-" he'd started to agree, before what she said sunk in. "Wait, my dorm?"

Her brow furrowed, and she began picking up all of her books and holding them to her chest. "That's what we just agreed on, isn't it? Since you don't have a roommate and I do."

Not wanting to look stupid in front of her, Fitz rushed to fix his mistake. "Yeah! Yeah, okay. Sorry. That's just not a phrase that people often use around me, so I got confused..."

Simmons hesitated for a second, undoubtedly wondering to herself how she got stuck with such an incorrigible nerd as a lab partner. "Well, see you tomorrow, Fitz!" she said in a chipper tone, and left.

After he was she that she had gone, Fitz dropped his head down so that it was against the desk and whimpered, sure of three things. He was a social idiot, he was going to regret this tomorrow, and Jemma was going to absolutely hate his room. 

***

Sure enough, the next day at 3:00 on the dot, exactly when she said she would, Jemma Simmons knocked on Fitz's door. He'd spent the night before finishing up the work he had in other classes, and hadn't had a moment to spare to clean up his room before passing out from exhaustion. He'd gotten back from his Tech lab only half an hour prior to now, leaving him with insufficient time to do laundry (which had an entire corner dedicated to its presence) or generally tidy anything up.

At the sound, he dumped all of his dirty clothes into the hamper that he'd conveniently found in his closet (had it always been there?), picked up a few blueprints that were scattered on his floor and shoved them into his dresser, and nearly broke his neck tripping on yet another blueprint roll precariously placed sticking out from under of his bed. At least he'd made his bed. That just sounds sad.

Sighing at the condition of his living quarters, Fitz opened the door. Dr. Dr. Jemma Simmons stood waiting there, perky as ever. How did she manage that?

"Fitz!" she exclaimed. "How are you today?"

"Um, good, I guess," he answered. "Please, come in." He opened the door wider, allowing her to step inside, trying to apologize in advance. "I'm really sorry about my room, I never thought that anybody would actually see it."

Simmons froze once she crossed the doorway, surveying the area. "Do you ever clean it?" she asked.

Fitz rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, yes. Every month. More specifically, the first Monday of every month." 

That was when he planned to do it, at least. He was 4 months into his first year at The Academy, and so far, he'd missed every first Monday. He did clean his room, but it was one step at a time. When he got tangled up in his sheets in the middle of the night, he decided to make his bed. That time that he'd run out of clothes entirely, had been his motivation to do laundry. He could do laundry, he just hated bothering with it. The Academy's laundry rooms were always filled with chatting people who either tried to engage him in conversation when he was lost in a very important thought or ignored him completely, which was convenient, but it still kind of hurt. That time some upperclassman had turned all of his whites pink didn't help his mindset either. 

"I wonder how your parents ever got you to clean your room," she added.

Well, his room back home hadn't been too bad. His mum did the laundry, and would make him clean up his room when she felt it was necessary, or else she'd be cross. He hated making his mum cross. The only other room that he'd had for a long time was his dorm room at MIT, and his DA had been a horrible control freak that would enforce mandatory room cleanings every two weeks. Here, no one made him tidy things up, and be just had too much to do in too little time.

"My room was fine," was all Fitz said.

"Alright, then," Simmons concluded. "Let's get to work. I brought my notes."

So, for the next hour, the two of them worked on their chem project, passing notes, exchanging ideas and formulas. Fitz drew the blueprints and Simmons jotted down their steps and thinking. Fitz even thought that she'd forgotten about the state of his room. He was wrong.

Jemma reached her hand back to settle into another sitting position, but her fingers touched something crinkly. She picked it up and brought it in front of her to examine it. 

"Is this a brownie package?" she asked.

Looking over at the wrapper and recognizing it, he answered. "Yep."

"Do you know how many calories this has?!" she exclaimed. "How do you burn all of them off?!"

Fitz, feeling awkward and pressured under her intense stare, fidgeted with the pen and replied, "Well, you see... I don't really..."

Simmons gawked at him. "How are you not morbidly obese?" she asked incredulously.

"Um, metabolism, I guess."

Simmons continued at stare at him for an uncomfortable period of time before clearing her throat and looking away. "Well, I'm a bit hungry," she commented. "Do you have anything to eat?"

"Yeah, there should be something in those cupboards." He reviewed what he had written on his pages and pointed in the general direction of his kitchenette. 

"Thank you." Simmons got herself out of her cross legged position and stood up. She opened one of the cupboards that he'd vaguely pointed to and let out a little shriek of surprise when she was greeted by at least ten rolls of blueprint paper falling on her head instead of food. The rest of the shelf inside was crammed with another twenty rolls, and that was only what was visible.

Fitz looked up for a second, winced at her agitated expression, and said "Not that cupboard," before looking down again.

Simmons stepped over the papers that had been scattered around her feet, to the next cupboard over. It was food, at least, but still not something she was happy about. 

"Fitz!" she exclaimed frustratedly. He looked up to see her pulling out a bag of doritos, five packages of ramen noodles, a box of cookies, and some cereal, with an exasperated look on her face. 

"Yes?" he said meekly. 

"Do you know how bad all the stuff is for you? I mean, a little bit is fine, but I did not see a single fruit or vegetable in the entirety of your kitchen."

He raised a hand and gestured towards a licorice wrapper that lay on the counter. "The twizzlers are strawberry flavored."

She sighed loudly and continued. "That doesn't count. You can't live off of sweets and ramen noodles, Fitz. It's not healthy."

"Yes, Simmons. I can live off of doritos if I please to do so. I can and I will. And I won't be persuaded to eat your rabbit food or whatever it is that you get off on," he replied curtly, his patience wearing thin over her scolding.

She gave him a stern look, and he gave her an equally stubborn one in return. Eventually, they both settled down to work on their project. It looked as though it would be finished by the end of the night if they concentrated, so they were obviously far ahead of the rest of their Chem class. Fitz let himself think about how well they worked together, even if he had trouble with socializing with her, and she grew competitive when they weren't working together. Maybe, he'd one day figure out the perfect thing to say to her to portray these thoughts and convince her to stick around and be his friend. He'd never wanted to impress someone so badly

Between their chats, and his private thoughts, Fitz still saw her glancing at all the visible food wrappers that were in his room, and he knew very well that their conversation wasn't over. Jemma Simmons wasn't a quitter, and Fitz didn't know whether he should admire her for her determination, or be very very afraid.

So, for now he did both.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And after not updating for so long, here's a short chapter! Sorry about that.
> 
> Also, I hope you appreciate my reference to Helen the Secretary.

The next day, Fitz was surprised to see Simmons show up at his door. It wasn’t to work on their chemistry project, no, they’d finished that the night before and had already turned it in. He was even more surprised to see that she was wearing a hazmat suit, and was dragging a cart behind her. It contained a vacuum, a duster, a garbage bin, and a laundry hamper, along with other various cleaning products that she must have stolen from the maintenance room. Oh no.

“Simmons…” he greeted rather unceremoniously. “What are you doing here.”

“Saving you,” was all she said before she shoved him aside to enter the room.

“But - wha… I don’t - Simmons!” Fitz spluttered. _Saving him?_ No, she was violating his privacy. Disregarding his way of life. Horrible.

Simmons ignored him, picking up a sock instead, frowning at it, and tossing it in the hamper. Then, she turned to him. “Your room is a mess. I’m trying to help you. Why don’t you make your bed, and I’ll pick up the laundry?”

Fitz hesitated. “Is that what it’ll take to get you to leave?”he asked. In all honesty, he didn’t necessarily want her to _leave_ , he did like spending time with her, but he _did_ want her to stop poking about his stuff.

She paused for a second, thinking about it. “Yes,” she finally concluded with a nod. “Now get to work.”

“You sound like my mum,” Fitz grumbled, but proceeded to follow her orders. He didn’t so easily forget that she had just barged in and ordered him to tidy up, though.

They cleaned for an hour, with Simmons periodically inserting comments to express her disdain, Fitz retorting back his own responses, and at one point, she reluctantly agreed to remove her hazmat suit and a conversation of sorts began.

“Wait, wait, _how_ did you lock your cousin in her attic?” Simmons exclaimed while she she wiped down the counter of his kitchenette. 

“I didn’t know she was in there! The attic door falls open all the time, so I closed it, thinking it was open by accident. It got stuck on its own!”

She giggled, bright peals of laughter that Fitz wouldn’t mind hearing again. “But she still hasn’t forgiven me…” he trailed off.

“Her problem,” Simmons said quietly, soft enough that he didn’t know if he was meant to hear. She cleared her throat. “Does this counter look shiny to you?” 

He glanced away from the papers on his desk that he was sorting. He’d certainly had enough practice from helping his dad’s secretary to know how to make it perfectly neat. He just usually didn’t bother. In the lab, everything must be in its place, but in his own quarters, he preferred _organized chaos_. “Well, it’s shinier than it’s ever been, so I’ll consider that a yes.”

She smiled at him, and for once, Fitz didn’t feel so awkward. He had no clue how to impress her, but maybe he didn’t need to. The thought flitted around in his mind for a bit. He looked around his room, and saw that it was spotless - well, at least in his opinion. Simmons worked fast.

“So… Are we done here?” he asked, before mentally smacking himself in the face when he saw her saddened expression and realized what impression that could’ve given off.

“I guess,” she mumbled. 

“Unless you, um, want to watch a movie or something. If you want, that is. I’ve got the best of BBC.”

Simmons stared at him, as if she was waiting for him to turn back on his word and say “Psyche!”. After a few awkward moments she finally agreed. “Yeah, I’d like that. Got Doctor Who?”

“Of course,” Fitz smiled. Wow. Jemma Simmons was going to watch his favourite show with him. He was definitely capable of staying calm… 

“Alright!”

“Alright.”

He held her gaze for a minute, grinning. “I’m going to set it up. Make yourself comfortable,” he gestured to his couch. 

Ten minutes later, they were sitting on his now-tidy sofa, watching an episode from the fourth doctor, and making endless amounts of comments about the scientific inaccuracies.

“That wouldn’t happen.”

“Would you look at those graphics?”

“My mum once knitted me a scarf that looked exactly like that! It was oddly heavy.”

“Our technology would have made that scene so much better.”

“I sort of like that bubble wrap look to the control board, actually. It’s funny to me.”

Fitz made popcorn, offering it to Simmons even though he knew he was risking a repeat of yesterday’s argument. She took a handful, but gave him a scolding look.

“Is there _anything_ I can do to convince you to eat healthier?” she asked in an exasperated tone.

“Nope.”

“We’ll see about that,” she muttered to herself. They resumed watching, but Fitz was unaware that she was scheming the entire time. Jemma Simmons was no quitter.


End file.
